


Worth the Risk

by lilbexi



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-12-23 12:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11990211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilbexi/pseuds/lilbexi
Summary: Post S3; Grace and Frankie return from the balloon ride and Frankie makes a decision. Acting on it, however, has some unintended consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first time writing fanfiction in about 15 years! Feedback welcomed!

Sunlight streamed through the window and landed on Grace’s face, rousing her from a deep sleep. She breathed in deeply through her nose and stretched her legs out, the strain of her overused muscles dispelling any last traces of slumber. Cracking her eyes open, she blinked into the morning light and it only took a second for the memories of last night to come flooding back to her. She smiled, dipping her head so that her nose burrowed into the bedcovers, and took another deep breath. ‘This is what contentment feels like’, she thought sleepily. The sunlight, temporarily blinding her to the realities of the new day, led her to close her eyes and welcome the memories. The air balloon, Frankie’s ecstatic smile, her infectious laughter and happiness in response to Grace’s gift. After their balloon ride, they came home to the beach house, Grace expertly averting Frankie’s pleas for Del Taco on the way, and settled on the couch together, tea in hand. Frankie was quiet and Grace assumed it was due to the emotions of their trip and of a difficult decision that had finally been made. In that moment, Grace had resigned herself to the fact that Frankie was going to leave for Santa Fe. And she was ok with it. Mostly. Yes, she was going to miss her best friend horribly, maybe too much, but she just couldn’t stand in the way of her happiness. 

She had noticed her feelings for Frankie gradually changing over the past several months. First, with an abstract curiosity, had noticed her need to be close to her. Then, as time went on, the realisation that everything she ever wanted was in this beach house with her kooky yet beautiful housemate. She meant what she said to Sol. Having Frankie and Vibrant was enough for her. She finally felt whole. The Santa Fe bombshell knocked her off her feet. Suddenly, she was filled with such panic, such terror, that she was going to lose Frankie. Of course, she dealt with it in her typical ‘Grace’ way – pretending to be aloof and uncaring, refusing to talk to Frankie about it and trying her hardest to shut down her emotions. To shut off her heart. Frankie may have wanted to climb over her walls but Grace was an expert in construction and solidly refused to let her in. How could she when Frankie was about to leave her? There was no way that Grace could open her heart just for it to be crushed. She always was good at denying herself. 

And then there was the balloon. A sign from God as sure as there was one. At least Nick came in useful for something! He wasn’t as much of an asshole as he made out; he allowed Grace to re-gift his romantic gesture with decency and no less than a hint of something akin to understanding. She needed to do this. Seeing Frankie’s beautiful face light up, hearing her squeal for joy, made Grace feel like all her Christmases had come at once. And being up in that balloon with her, she was filled with so much love and admiration that she just *had* to tell Frankie to do whatever made her happy. Go to Santa Fe, go be with Jacob. Even if it meant that Grace would be alone and heartbroken, it was worth it just to see that smile on her face. She could never deny Frankie that kind of happiness. 

Sitting on the couch when they arrived home, Frankie quiet and pensive, Grace felt eerily at ease with their respective destinies. Frankie would be happy. That’s all that mattered. But then Frankie turned to her and said quietly, “I can’t. I can’t go,” and Grace felt a surge of hope rise up from her belly. “Of course you can!” Grace had replied. “You were born to be in Santa Fe. You’ll have a fabulous life there.” 

“I have a fabulous life here. With you,” was Frankie’s soft reply.

Could it be, Grace thought in that moment, that Frankie maybe, just maybe, felt the same for her that she did for Frankie? The very idea of it seemed absurd to her. Grace was used to being not enough. She was used to playing second fiddle. Lost in her thoughts, she almost missed Frankie’s whisper, would have if it hadn’t been for the fact that Frankie gently grasped Grace’s hand in hers, making Grace’s focus narrow down with laser precision to the woman sat in front of her. 

“I can’t be without you.”

Not ‘I can’t live without you’. That, even for Frankie would be too fatalistic. People can live through all kinds of horrors and survive thanks to the tenacity of the survival instinct. But ‘I can’t be without you’…. that speaks of life, of want…of choice. In that instant Grace knew that she couldn’t be without Frankie either. Yes, she could survive (barely) if she chose to leave, but she would never again be who she really was. It had taken Grace 73 years to finally feel content, to feel ok being herself, to feel free. And that, she knew, was because of Frankie. Frankie and her incessant need to make Grace talk about her feelings, to connect on a more human level than she has ever been comfortable doing before. She was sure that, should Frankie leave, then all the growth and understanding nurturing that had been put in place by having Frankie in her life would be undone. And she couldn’t, just couldn’t, go back to that lonely, emotionless place. 

“I don’t think I can be without you either,” she had replied softly, turning her hand under Frankie’s to grasp it tightly. Frankie had looked at her then and Grace thought that nobody had ever looked at her like this. Really looked. Into her almost. She was aware of her heart pounding in her chest, her breath coming quicker as Frankie leaned in towards her. ‘This is it’, Grace thought. ‘This is what I’ve been waiting for my whole life’. This feeling of anticipation mixed with passion and fright and love and need. Frankie’s lips against hers were soft and warm, and Grace couldn’t help her eyes from drifting shut as she returned the kiss reverently. Her left hand found its way into Frankie’s hair as she pulled her closer, tilting her head to the right to deepen the kiss, a moan escaping from her mouth. Frankie’s hands had found their way to her hips, stroking her sides and winding around and up Grace’s back as she pulled her closer still. 

Later, in her bedroom, after being carefully negotiated backwards up the stairs, her hands and mouth still full of Frankie, Grace lay beneath her, clothes gone, gasping with need. Hands and mouths touched and explored, the room illuminated by moonlight and filled with the sounds of their mutual pleasure. 

“I love you!” she had half gasped as she came, Frankie’s hand buried between her legs and her mouth on her left breast. And she felt complete. 

Drifting back to the present. Grace let out a sigh and let her hand reach back behind her, seeking out the warmth and comfort of her housemate. Finding only the expanse of rumpled bedsheets she frowned and rolled over to find, disappointed, that she was alone in bed. It wasn’t like Frankie to be up before her. Perhaps she was in need of those tater tots after such an exhilarating evening. Grinning softly to herself, Grace edged her way out of bed and into the bathroom to freshen up. Standing at the top of the stairs, clanging sounds emanated from the kitchen, making her roll her eyes in half-hearted exasperation.

Frankie was at the sink, her back to Grace, furiously scrubbing something that looked suspiciously like one of her paint palettes which, incidentally, Grace had explicitly told her not to wash in the kitchen sink multiple times. Grace approached, a smile on her face, and reached out a hand to run down Frankie’s back. Frankie jumped at least a foot in the air, whirling round to stare at Grace in shock. 

“Grace! What are you, a ninja?”

“Frankie, haven’t I told you before not to wash your palettes in the sink?” Grace asked with a smile and without a hint of irritation.

“There’s a drought, Grace!” Frankie shot back. She turned back to task, presenting Grace with her back once more. Grace edged over to stand next to her, leaning a hip against the counter, a small frown developing on her face at how diligently Frankie was scrubbing away. 

“Hey,” she said softly, a hand coming up to push loose strands of hair behind Frankie’s ear. “What’s wrong?”

Frankie stopped scrubbing at the palette and for an instant held her breath before letting it out and her shoulders drop and her eyes close. 

“Grace…”

“What? What is it?”

Frankie turned her head in Grace’s direction, although kept her gaze trained on the floor, apparently unable to look at her face. 

“I…I don’t know if I’m…ready for this.” She finally flicked her eyes up to glance Grace and whatever she saw there made her quickly look away again.

Grace felt her heart stop and she took in a breath and held it before slowly and silently letting it out again. Her head felt cloudy all of a sudden, her limbs heavy and useless as she stared back at Frankie in disbelief. 

“You seemed ready for it last night,” she said carefully. 

“I know!” Frankie cried, turning from the sink to pace around the centre island in the kitchen. She apparently needed it between them as a physical barrier. “Last night was….wonderful. Really! It’s just…” she broke off, looking around her desperately as though trying to find the right words. “I just don’t think I’m ready for…..whatever this is.” 

Grace felt like she had been punched in the gut. Letting out a huff of air she pulled her robe around her tighter, needing to feel grounded. “Whatever this is,” she repeated under her breath. 

“Don’t you think you could have mentioned this before we had sex last night?” she asked, a little harsher than intended and not unaware of the surge of anger that was rising within her. Grace’s default emotion in the face of pain. Anger. “So what is this? Thanks but no thanks?”

“No!” Frankie insisted. “It’s just all so…new and…God Grace, I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now!”

Grace dipped her head and nodded once. Of course this would happen. Of course she would open herself up and THIS be the result. Trying her hardest to keep calm, eyes still on the floor, she said in a low voice, “it was you who kissed me, Frankie.” She raised her eyes to meet Frankie’s, willing the tears not to spill over. “I told you I love you”. It came out as a broken whisper and Grace silently cursed herself for being so weak.

“I know,” Frankie gushed, rushing over to stand in front of Grace. “It’s just…we’re so very different. And this is all so new. And there’s Jacob. And…this…you and me…it’s such a huge risk and…I don’t know what to do!”

'I’m a huge risk', Grace thinks. Apparently not one worth taking. She wants to say something, anything, but all she can do is stare at Frankie and will her heart not to bleed all over the kitchen floor. A distant voice in the back of her mind reaches out to her, ‘this is what happens when you let someone into your heart’. 

“Grace,” Frankie says softly, her hands lifting to grasp each of Grace’s. “I do…care for you. So very much.”

“Yeah,” Grace huffs out, nodding once. “You just don’t want me.” 

The line is delivered and hits its mark as intended. Frankie stares back at her, her mouth opening and closing, her eyes dipping down to avoid Grace’s intense gaze. ‘Say something’ Grace silently pleads. ‘Tell me I’m worth the risk!” Frankie sighs and gives a defeated half shrug. 

Grace pulls her hands out of Frankie’s harshly, takes two steps back away from her, absolutely sure that if she doesn’t escape from this room right now then she will end up in an undignified heap on the floor. 

“Go to hell.” She breathes, turning on her heal and trying desperately not to run back up the stairs. She gets to her bedroom and closes the door behind her, her back falling against it as she finally falls into puddle and lets herself cry.


	2. Chapter 2

She was never good enough, not really. Not good enough for her mother to stick around for or for her father to actually bother to raise her himself afterwards. Not good enough for all the nannies and au pairs who trotted into and out of her life with alarming regularity. Not good enough for her Grandmother, who clearly preferred Grace’s sister over her (“You always were a funny little thing”). Grace didn’t want to be a thing, an unseen and forgotten thing, like a misplaced parcel or lost pair of sunglasses. By the time she was fourteen she put all her energy into being something that was wanted. It was easier to get compliments, to be wanted, when you were thin and beautiful and she knew she had the looks (the looks of her mother) even if the figure took some serious maintenance that generally involved either throwing her fingers down her throat or just not eating at all. She thought her first boyfriend, Charles, was proud to have her on his arm but soon realised she was little more to him than a prized thoroughbred that he could show off to all of his friends. And when she refused to have sex with him she was clearly not good enough for him anymore. The boys, the men that followed, were just as shallow and those who weren’t were easily frustrated and put off by her total lack of ability to open up with them. Being closed off was easier. It hurt less. It was safe. 

By the time she met Robert, she was adept at masking. An expert in hiding behind a cool exterior that belied the hurt girl underneath. Over the years the hurt got buried so deep that she completely lost sight of herself and became the image that she projected to the world. Hard. Aloof. Uncaring. She had a husband who was a good father to her children, even if he made a negligent husband. She had her girls and her business and she was proud of what she had made of her life. She wasn’t the funny little thing anymore, she was a wife, a mother, a businesswoman. She was capable and strong. And the minute those self-doubting voices drifted back into her head she would drown them in vodka martinis to make them shut the hell up. Another crutch. Another mask. 

“I thought it was enough,” she had told Robert. 'I thought I was enough'. He thought there was more. More than Grace and her closed off emotions and hard face and harder words. More than a life being wasted settling for a consolation prize. After forty years of marriage and children and homemaking, she still wasn’t enough. 

But Frankie. Oh Frankie! She made her feel enough. She made her feel whole. The day of her date with Phil, Frankie’s assurances and her ‘I love ya!' made her feel strong again. Made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she could be enough. But then, Frankie had Jacob and was talking of moving away to Santa Fe and the thought of losing her had Grace almost blind with fear. 

And then last night. God! Last night! Grace had never felt open, so vulnerable, so wanted. And it was exhilarating. In the moonlight of her bedroom she let Frankie strip away the final barrier along with her clothes, allowed her to take away the last bricks of those damned walls she had built up around herself with every kiss that was planted on her body. She had felt, for the very first time in her life, safe with someone else. Safe to show her heart because she was so fucking certain that this someone would never, ever break it. And now, here she is, a crumpled wreck on the floor, unable to even look at her bed, let alone lay on it. Not with the ghost of Frankie’s touch so fucking fresh on her skin. 'She didn’t say it back', Grace suddenly thinks. 'I told her I loved her and she didn’t say it back'. Frankie, who tells the college kid working in Del Fucking Taco that she loves him. Frankie who, when delivering his weekly rations, tells the homeless guy living under the boardwalk that she loves him. Oh she’s said it time and time again before. I love yous are easy for Frankie and she dished them out freely, even to Grace, before last night. But last night ‘I love you’ would have meant so much more. Apparently more than Frankie was able to give. 

“I need to get out of this house,” Grace mumbled, pushing herself to a standing position and swiping angrily at the tears on her cheeks. She needed to rebuild. She needed to. And she couldn’t do it here, not with Frankie so close. Frankie and her face and her hair and her . . . just her. Grace needed to ground herself, needed to find that mask and slide it back into place, needed to put back together the pieces of her heart and then encase it in steel once more. She could forget last night ever happened. Fuck, she could never forget last night, but she could pretend it didn’t matter. She could pretend it meant as little to her as it did to Frankie. She would put her feelings away again and she wouldn’t hurt. She would be safe. 

 

Frankie stared at the canvass in front of her, trying to focus on the purples and blues, but all she could see was the hurt on Grace’s face this morning. She hates that she hurt her. Goddess knows she never wanted to do that. But the past few weeks have been so confusing and she hasn’t been able to find her balance since the stroke. Her head has been so full of her health and Jacob and Santa Fe. Of Grace – always Grace. And she was so angry at her! Angry for not talking to Frankie about it, for not showing any hint of human compassion about the possibility of her moving away, for not even trying to make her stay. After the stroke, the anger found an outlet in the face of Grace’s hovering and fussing, in her sheer audacity in calling Frankie’s doctor without even discussing it with her. How could she possibly make a decision about Santa Fe when Grace was so distant one moment and then acting like a concerned wife the next. Wife. Frankie felt something in the depths of her stomach pull at that thought. Last night, she knew she couldn’t do it. Her arm wrapped around Grace up in the air, sitting next to her on the drive home, watching her move around the kitchen to make mugs of tea before coming to join her on the couch. She knew she could never leave her. She also knew that she should figure out what that really meant. For her and Grace, for her and Jacob. She needed to process this. But instead she leaned in and pressed her lips against Grace’s as though pulled by an invisible force.

Kissing Grace was like heaven to her. The feel of her lips against hers, the feel of Grace’s tongue flicking out to deepen the kiss, to duel with her own, had made Frankie’s heart plummet into her stomach and bounce right back up again. Her hands in Grace’s hair, Grace’s hands in hers, pulling and grasping and stroking, each touch feeling like mini fireworks against her skin. It was Frankie who had starting this. It was she who had whispered a frantic “I want you” against Grace’s mouth. It was she who had stood and grasped Grace’s hands in hers, pulling her up and in to circle an arm around her waist, telling her she was beautiful while she backed her towards the stairs. It was she who lay Grace on the bed and unwrapped her like she was the most precious gift she had ever been given. Grace, tentative at first, had responded in kind, coming alive with a passion that had blown Frankie away. Her hands suddenly as desperate to shed Frankie’s clothes as she was to shed Grace’s, fingertips sliding along her skin leaving goosebumps in their wake. Touching Grace was like touching silk. It was everything. And when she came apart underneath her, gasping out her love for her, it filled Frankie with so much pleasure that it, along with Grace’s thigh tucked tight between her own, sent her over the edge too. 

Laying there afterwards, her arms wrapped around this magnificently infuriating woman who had turned her world upside down, the guilt crept in and settled hard and uncomfortable in her stomach. Frankie always did first and thought later, was always heart before head, and it had gotten her into trouble more than once before. She supposes she had already made up her mind that things had to end with Jacob but she hadn’t even told him yet and here she was in bed with someone else. And would she and Grace even work? As much as she loved her, she knew Grace was flighty when it came to romance and Frankie wasn’t sure how much of that she could take on top of everything else. Grace already had a tendency to coddle and belittle her, intentional or not. When pushed, her words could be like barbed wire and Frankie was not prepared to take that from someone if she was going to give them her heart so completely. And Frankie doesn’t give her heart if not completely. 

They needed to talk, to process, to figure out what exactly this was and they should have done that before last night. Before making things even more complicated. This morning, Frankie just couldn’t find the words, her mind so full of racing thoughts and doubts, and she knows that Grace was hurt by what she said. She needed to get in touch with her subconscious ‘Joanne’ to help her figure all of this out. She saw Grace’s car heading out about an hour ago and surmised that maybe Grace needed time to think too. They would have one hell of a talk when she got home. And this time she hoped to find the right words to make Grace understand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit of a struggle, hence it being short. Feedback welcomed (needed!)...

She has driven around aimlessly for two hours. Plenty of time for her to replay Frankie’s words over and over again. And her heart _aches_. She has loved before. She had loved Robert, not the kind of transformative passion that was the stuff of fairy tales maybe, but she did love him. And she had loved Phil. She thought she had been _in_ love with Phil but now, looking back, she knows that she had been merely in love with the _idea_ of that kind of connection with someone. How in the world has she now fallen in love for the first time in her life at aged 73? Exactly how cold and cut off from her heart was she all her damn life? And how, _how_ , did it take Frankie Bergstein of all people to cause her heart to melt, flooding her with emotion and passion to the point where she felt as though she were drowning? She knows she never really hated her all those years. She was just so afraid of her and her openness and ability to exude love and joy wherever she went. Openness and emotion had always terrified Grace and so it became easier to berate Frankie, to convince herself that she was just a hippy nut job with no boundaries, than to admit to her fears. Or to be forced to overcome them. 

God, how she wishes her heart was still frozen like stone. This pain, this hurt, this unbearable heartache, is just too damn much. Doesn’t Frankie know? Doesn’t she realise how hard it is for Grace to allow herself to feel, to be vulnerable, to _love_? Doesn’t she know how much it hurt to have it thrown back in her face like it was worthless? Like _she_ was worthless? The tears fall down her cheeks unchecked, blurring her vision almost to the point of blindness, as the familiar self-hatred creeps back up her spine and takes residence deep in her belly and chest. _I’m not worth it_. Her breath catches in her tightened throat, a fresh wave of hurt spilling through her body. She has to get a grip of herself. She has to find a way to stop the flood. 

Inevitably, she ends up pulling up outside a bar, almost smirking at how she is such a walking cliché. _Fuck it. I need a fucking drink_. Billie eyes her up cautiously as she approaches the bar, flinging her purse on top of it and sitting heavy on the stool. “Vodka…”

“...Martini” Billie finishes. “Yeah I remember.” She goes about making the drink under Grace’s abstract gaze. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Grace gives an uncharacteristic shrug of the shoulders. “You’re the bartender who doesn’t talk, remember?” she says on a sigh, glancing around at the almost empty bar.

Billie shoots her a cool look as she plonks two olives into the glass and slides it over to Grace. “I’m also the bartender who had to take you home last time you came here on a bender so, for you, I’ll make an exception.” Grace feels heat in her face as she picks up the glass and brings it to her lips. “I’m sorry about that,” she says quietly. 

There is a few moments of silence as Grace sips at her drink, thankful for the peace and quiet of the bar. “So…” the peace is interrupted by the plucky bartender. “Avoiding talking about feelings at home again or just here to ensure I actually get a tip today?”

“For a bartender who doesn’t talk you do a lot of it.” A pause. “Actually I’ve had my fill of talking about feelings today. I’m here to forget I have them.” She tips the remaining vodka martini past her lips and taps the empty glass with a fingernail to prove her point. 

“You’d better go slower than that. I don’t get off work for another six hours.”

Grace waits for her second drink, silently agreeing that it wouldn’t be the smartest move to do a repeat of her last performance in this place. “Why do you come here alone?” Billie suddenly asks. “Don’t you ever go out for a drink with your partner? What was her name?”

“Frankie.” Just the name on her lips brings a fresh wave of pain to her chest and a knot to her stomach. She reaches out for the glass almost before the olives are even deposited. “And she’s not my partner. She’s my…” God what _was_ she now? “…housemate,” she finishes with a slight nod of the head. Yes. Housemate. That is all. 

“Oh? I assumed you two were together,” Billie’s eyes narrow slightly and Grace isn’t sure if she is merely teasing to get a reaction. She narrows her own eyes, looking her over to try and read her intentions. “I mean, it’s none of my business,” she adds quickly, picking up a cloth to wipe down the already clean bar top. “I wouldn’t judge. I mean, _I’m_ gay so…” 

“So are Frankie and mine’s ex-husbands,” she delivers, shifting in her seat with an eye-roll and again bringing the glass to her lips. Billie stops with the cloth and puts a hand on her hip. “Wow. Ok, that must have been…unexpected.” Grace tilts her head to the right and flicks her eyebrows up in the affirmative. “So that’s how you two ended up living together?” Grace responds with a nod. 

“How long were you married?” 

“Forty years.” Forty years of being someone’s second choice. “He was having an affair with Frankie’s husband for twenty”. She ponders why she is telling Billie this. Is it the alcohol that is loosening her lips? It rarely had that effect before. Well, aside from the last time she was here, of course. Maybe it’s Billie. There is something safe about talking to her. She asks questions. Grace answers. She doesn’t need to see her again if she doesn’t wish to and her listening style is aloof enough not to make it feel like a fucking therapy session. Billie doesn’t do empathy and compassion which is perfect because Grace can’t handle either. Especially not right now. 

“Beach House Barbie really has had it tough,” Billie says, pouring out a water chaser and placing it discretely to Grace’s left. Grace eyes the glass for a long moment, lost in thought. “Did you always know you were gay?” she hears herself ask. 

“Did you always know you were straight?” Billie shoots back, prickled. 

“Who said I am?” Grace counters, giving her a direct look.

Billie is thrown off kilter, almost managing to hide it behind a mask of indifference. “The fact that you were married to a man for forty years is a pretty big indication.”

“Married to a gay man,” Grace corrects, raising her glass for a refill. “What does that tell you?”

“That you’re unlucky?”

“I am most certainly that,” Grace affirms with a humourless smile. The two women slip into silence, Billie cleaning glasses while Grace watches without really seeing her. She wonders what Frankie is doing. _No!_ She needs to get Frankie out of her head! She is meant to be rebuilding.

“So, tell me more about Frankie,” Billie breaks in. Grace’s heaves a heavy sigh, irritated by what feels like an intrusion and irked by the fact that obviously Frankie was to not going to be leaving her head any time soon. 

“I really don’t want to talk about her,” she states. “I came here to get away from her.”

Billie raises an eyebrow. “So that’s why you’re here. What did she do?”

_Broke my fucking heart, that’s what she did_. “What part of ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ are you stuck on?” Billie just looks at her with an almost smirk, waiting. Grace sighs and clears her throat. “We had a fight.”

“You had a fight and now you’re drinking alone to forget you have feelings,” Billie nods to herself. “But you’re not partners. Of course.” Grace hears the doubt and something close to amusement in her voice. _For fuck’s sake_. “These feelings you’re trying to drink away. Are they feelings for Frankie by any chance?”

Grace looks at her incredulously, shaking her head. “Has anybody ever told you to mind your own fucking business?”

“Only when I confront them with something they don’t want to admit.”

“You’re an asshole,” she tells her, although the insult is purposely lacking in venom.

“I am most certainly that,” she agrees with a smile, presenting Grace’s own words back to her. “Come on. Bartenders are free therapists, right?”

“Not so free.” Grace holds up her glass with one hand while holding up four fingers on the other. “Another please. And don’t think this makes you entitled to a bigger tip.” She watches the younger woman make her fourth drink for a moment. “She was leaving” the _me_ is silent, “she was going to move to Santa Fe with her boyfriend” and the _boyfriend_ drips with distaste. 

“Boyfriend?” Billie raises a brow that is met by Grace’s nod. 

“She changed her mind. Told me she couldn’t be without me.” Something inside Grace’s brain is telling her to shut the fuck up but the swell is rising again despite the alcohol and she has to let some of it out before she explodes. 

“And that caused a fight because…?”

“She backtracked.” Billie hands her the replenished glass with an “oh”. A beat. “ _After_ we had sex.” Grace brings the glass to her lips, both to still her tongue and to tend to her dry mouth, eyeing Billie over the rim. Billie’s eyes shoot up to hers, a look of surprise flitting over her features, her hand almost dropping the shaker that she still held. 

“Well,” she stumbled before smiling. “There you fucking go.” She sobers. “That is a dick move. Does she know you’re here?”

“No. I left my phone at home.”

“Passive aggressive yet clear way of saying ‘fuck you’. Nice.”

Grace wants to respond to that with a smile but somehow her brain won’t send the signal to her mouth. She looks down into her drink, flicking the skewered olives with a finger. “What are you going to do?” Billie asks.

Taking a deep breath, Grace lifts her face, composure regained after letting some of _it_ out. “I’m going have a couple more drinks and then you’re going to call me a cab and then…then I’ll think about the rest tomorrow.”

______________________________________________

Frankie listens the voicemail message on Grace’s phone for the hundredth time. “Grace, please call me and let me know you’re ok. I’m worried.” A pause. “It’s Frankie.” She hangs up and sighs, staring unseeing at the unfinished canvass. She can’t work right now. Not when her head is spinning and her heart is heavy. Grace has been gone all day and Frankie’s numerous messages and calls have gone unanswered. She is scared. She knows how Grace can get when she is hurting and the knowledge that it is she who has caused it this time makes her eyes water and her heart thud. Why did she have say that this morning? Why couldn’t she have been honest, like a normal person? Like Joanne tells her to be every time she checks in with her. 

She’s a coward. She knows this. She loves Grace so _fucking_ much that it makes her knees go weak but instead of telling her that, she let her think that she doesn’t want her. Because it terrifies her. This love she feels, something purer than she’s ever experienced in her life, terrifies her more than anything. More than the stroke, more than the thought of leaving her loved ones behind, more than the threat of the local Del Taco shutting down. Because what if doesn’t work out? What if she and Grace are just too incompatible, both too damaged to love one another without hurting each other? Sol almost broke her and Grace…Grace is so much more. She is everything. And Frankie just cannot lose her. Of course, she realises that by giving in to her fear there is a very real chance that she has lost her already. 

She makes her way into the main house, hitting the call button on her phone again. She hears the ringing, not just through her own phone but in the room itself. She looks over to the dining table, stares accusingly at Grace phone as it rings. Picking it up to silence it she mutters out a “fuck” before setting it back down. A new kind of fear creeps up her back and prickles down her arms. She glances down to the time on her phone. 17:53. Grace has been gone since this morning and hasn’t had her phone. What if she were in some kind of trouble and hasn’t been able to call anyone for help. Images of car wrecks and ambulances and hospitals shoot through Frankie’s brain, speeding up the pace of her heart and making it difficult to breathe. She holds up her phone again and dials a different number. 

“Frankie, how are you, love?” Robert’s voice permeates her brain, momentarily interrupting the carnage of images there. 

“Fine. Not fine. Um…Robert, have you seen Grace today?” No time for chit chat. 

“Grace? No, not today. Why is everything ok?”

Frankie paces the kitchen, nervous energy requiring her to be in constant motion. “She hasn’t called you or the girls? Of course she hasn’t called you, she didn’t take her phone. But have you heard from her?” She can’t help but ramble.

“No, I haven’t heard from her. She didn’t take her phone where?”

“Wherever she was going! I…” She stops pacing to take a breath. “She went out this morning and left her phone and I don’t know where she is.”

“I’m sure she’ll turn up. She probably just had errands to run. Maybe she’s gone to visit the Country Club girls,” he offers, his voice annoyingly placating.

“She doesn’t see them anymore,” she responds distractedly. God, doesn’t he know anything? “Robert, I’m worried.”

“Why would you be worried, Frankie? I’m sure Grace is just fine.”

Frankie pauses, debating how much to tell him. “We had a fight. She was upset.”

“Ok,” Robert draws it out slowly. “How bad was it?”

“Imagine the worse fight you could possibly have and multiply it by a thousand!”

“Worse than when you found Louise?”

“Oh Lord, much _much_ worse than the Louise incident.” She picks the pacing back up, furthering the distance to look out of the living room window as though just by looking she could will Grace’s car to drive up the driveway. 

“Oh. That doesn’t sound good. Do you want us to come over?”

She wants to say yes but she can’t have them here now. She’s much too frantic and when she’s frantic she talks and if what happened this morning hasn’t sent Grace packing then Robert and Sol finding out about all of this most certainly would do the job. “No. No it’s ok. I just…if you hear from her will you tell her to please call me. Or you call me.”

“Of course I will. Please try not to worry, Frankie. When we used to fight, Grace would take herself away for a few hours to cool off and regroup. I’m sure that’s all this is.” Frankie wants to ask him if he ever saw Grace’s heart break apart right in front of his eyes too but that would probably invite questions that she couldn’t answer right now. 

“I hope you’re right,” she says instead.

“Let us know when she gets home so we know she’s safe ok?”

“Yeah, sure.” Frankie sometimes still can’t get her mind around the fact that Robert now shares his life and home with Sol. That they are now an ‘us’ and a ‘we’. Is that what she and Grace are? Were? Could be? She hangs up the phone and types up a quick text, keeping it brief so as not to make Mallory and Brianna overly anxious. She presses send and goes over to the couch and sits. And waits. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so this has turned a little dark but please bear with - I fully intend on a happy ending.  
> *Potential triggers for eating disorder/depression*

Almost tripping up the step to the porch, Grace retrieves her house key from her purse. Her ‘couple more drinks’ inevitably turned into four more drinks and, while certainly not as plastered as the last time she had an impromptu drinking session at Billie’s bar, she is definitely well on her way to drunk. She stumbles through the door, catching herself with a hand on the wall. Ok, maybe she’s more than ‘on her way’. She glances into the living room and stops still when she spies Frankie laying on the couch sound asleep. She sighs, closing the door quietly and kicking off her shoes so that her heels don’t make a sound as she walks through to the kitchen. She had hoped that Frankie would be in her studio, that she wouldn’t have to have a conversation with her tonight. If she is quiet and quick she can get what she’s here for and retreat to her bedroom until tomorrow. 

“Grace?”

She pauses, one hand on the open fridge door, the other resting on the vodka bottle. Her eyes close and her shoulders drop in defeat. Could she not catch a fucking break today? She can hear the rustling of all five layers of Frankie’s dress as she approaches. Opening her eyes, she pulls back her shoulders and pulls the bottle out of the fridge. 

“Grace! Where have you been? I’ve been worried!”

She unscrews the lid and pours a generous amount into a glass. “Obviously not that worried,” she says coolly, a hand gesturing to the couch where Frankie was asleep not five minutes ago. 

“I stress-sleep, you know that!” Frankie comes to the opposite side of the island across from Grace, resting her hands on its surface. Grace can’t help but glance at those hands, the hands that, this time last night, were caressing her body, making her feel more alive than ever before. She looks away quickly and takes a mouthful of vodka. 

“I called you countless times but you left your phone here. Tell me where you’ve been, please.”

“Out.” Grace turns to the sink and for the first time she is grateful that Frankie has left some dishes in it so she can have something to do besides standing there not looking at her. The mug in her hand is wet and slips through her fingers, clattering loudly against a plate in the sink. She runs the water, leaning a hip heavily against the countertop. 

“You’ve been drinking,” Frankie says quietly. 

“You’re observant,” Grace counters. She knows she is being petulant but she _feels_ petulant, damnit. She doesn’t want to do this now. She doesn’t want to do it ever, but especially not now. She wants to take that bottle of vodka to her bedroom and drink herself to sleep and maybe, maybe tomorrow the hurt and the pain will have been pushed down far enough so that she can ignore it all. Move on. Forget all about how much she loves Frankie and wants nothing more than to tuck her face into her neck and breathe her in forever. Forget about those hands and that mouth and how they can make her feel. The plate and the mug are barely dirty but she is diligent in her cleaning, not ready to turn around yet, not until the tears in her eyes have disappeared. 

“Grace, talk to me, please.” Frankie is pleading, sounds hurt. _Good_ , thinks Grace. _Let her fucking hurt for a change._ The constant fluctuation between love and rage at this woman is making Grace dizzy. Why can’t her mind be still? She turns and reaches for her glass but Frankie’s hand intercepts and moves it out of her reach. 

“Don’t, Frankie.” Her voice is low and lethal, her eyes, sharp and narrowed, meeting Frankie’s. A warning.

“You’re drunk, Grace.” Frankie’s tone matches hers. 

Stalemate. 

“Fine,” Grace forces out. She flings the mug back into the sink and it lands with a satisfying crash. “Do your own fucking dishes. I’m going to bed.” She rounds the island but as she moves to leave the room Frankie’s hand comes out to take hold her of her wrist. She is under the influence and her reactions are slow. But when she turns she can’t see for her tears and the thought of Frankie seeing her face like this is unbearable so she looks down at her hand holding her arm she feels something inside of her break open. _Who knew there was so much to break in there?!_

“Let go, Frankie.” The fight is gone from within her and she feels empty and hollow. The tears falling down her cheeks feel like tiny razor blades and she knows she must look just as pathetic as she feels. She keeps her eyes trained on her wrist, refusing to look up into Frankie’s face. Terrified of what she would see if she did. _No fucking wonder she doesn’t want you. Look at yourself._ “Please…” she hears herself almost plead and she has no idea who or what she’s pleading for. Please shut the fuck up? Please let me go? Please love me? Please say you want me? 

“I’m sorry, Grace. I’m so sorry I hurt you,” she sounds like maybe she is crying too. “Can we talk? Tomorrow? Please tell me you’ll let me explain.” 

The first thought in Grace’s mind is that she doesn’t want to be here tomorrow. She doesn’t want to be here at all. She wants it all to just go away. She wants it to be dark and silent. She wants so badly to just…stop. Her mind flashes on her pills upstairs. How easy that would be. She knows she won’t do it, it’s just somewhere her mind goes sometimes when she’s drunk and hurting. Another thing to feel guilty about the next day. Another thing to push away and ignore. 

All she can do is nod once, hot tears still spilling down her cheeks. _My God, you’re pathetic._ At her nod, Frankie loosens her grip on her wrist and the very moment she lets go, Grace turns and quickly makes it to the stairs. She all but runs up to her bedroom feeling like a stupid child. The alcohol that she so desperately consumed to dull her emotions was now swishing in her stomach, mixing uncomfortably with the tears and a wave of nausea hits her, sending her stumbling into the bathroom. Falling to her knees in front of the toilet, she brings a hand up to her mouth, inserting two fingers to the back of her throat until all the pain comes spilling out. She continues until there is nothing but bile and she is left gasping for breath. She sits on the cold tile floor, her head tilted back against the wall and she feels her whole body trembling. _Yeah. Why wouldn’t anyone want this? You’re repulsive._

She forces herself to a standing position, brushes her teeth, and crawls into bed fully dressed because she’s so fucking cold and the idea of taking her clothes off makes her feel strangely defenceless right now. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to notice Frankie’s scent on her sheets. 

\----- -----

Frankie is awake early the next morning, having had little sleep. All night she tossed and turned, unable to stop seeing the tears on Grace’s face, the hurt in her eyes. She has always known that Grace feels deeply, despite how much she constantly tries to shut off her emotions and pretend she doesn’t care. In the three years they have been living together, Frankie has seen so much more of Grace’s feelings than in the 35 years they knew each other beforehand. She knows Grace drinks to stop uncomfortable things from coming to the surface, that it’s a tool, a method by which to block everything out. And she knows that Grace has bouts of depression that can last from hours to weeks, making her cranky and unable to leave her bed, leading her to eat less and drink more. People make the mistake that Grace Hanson doesn’t feel. The truth is, she feels too much and she sees that as a weakness. Frankie has told her time and again that to feel, to show your emotion is beautiful and powerful and that she should feel pride in it. And while Grace has mellowed somewhat, she still finds it abhorrent to breakdown in front of anyone – to show vulnerability. 

So, her tears last night were not only upsetting to Frankie, but terrifying. Somehow, Grace has lost the ability to mask, to keep it all in and pretend she is stronger than she really is. Last night, for the very first time, Frankie didn’t prod and poke, didn’t try to coax her into talking, for the very simple reason that she just seemed too fucking fragile. And Frankie has never seen Grace Hanson fragile. To know that she is the cause of this, the fall of Grace Hanson, is overwhelmingly painful. Of course, she isn’t conceited enough to think she did this singlehandedly. Grace has a lifetime of hurt and pain stored up. It’s just that Frankie was the last straw, the last hurt that she could possibly take. And she has no fucking clue how to even begin to make it up to her. To put her back together again. 

Coffee. Coffee is an, albeit small, start. She sets the pot to brew, knowing that Grace will wake up with a pounding head and in search of caffeine. She sits at the island but the knots in her stomach won’t settle and she can still see Grace standing there with heartbreak all over her beautiful face. Twice. In this kitchen. When they talk, they are certainly not doing it in this room. She takes herself to the sofa and sits, her hands running through her hair as she waits for Grace to rise. She plaits and re-plaits the brown and silver stands, a nervous habit leftover from her childhood. Her phone chirps at her from inside her pocket, making her jump. Pulling out the device she fishes around on the coffee table for Grace’s glasses, sliding them up her nose and hitting the home button. 

A text from Jacob. _What the actual fuck now?_ She had spoken to him yesterday, hating that she was breaking up with him over the phone like this but knowing that she couldn’t face seeing him after what had happened with Grace that morning. She had kept it simple, had told him that no, she couldn’t pick up her life and move to Santa Fe with him and that she was sorry it had to end this way. He took it reasonably well, considering. Said he, too was sorry although not entirely surprised by her answer. They had wished each other well and that was that. 

_‘I have some of your things at my place._  
_Thought you’d want them before I leave?’_

Jesus, yes she wants her things but that would mean having to see Jacob in person and she has already established with herself, and with Joanne, that she’s a coward. He can’t come here. Not with Grace how she is right now. Frankie would just have to dig deep for some courage and go pick up her stuff from Jacob’s herself. 

_‘Is it ok for me to come get it now?’_

She waits, eyeing the dots running across her screen indicating that a reply is being typed.

_‘Not a problem.’_

She glances at the time on her phone and muses she could probably get to Jacob’s and back before Grace gets out of bed. Her hangover hours are significantly different to her sober ones and if Frankie gets home by 11:00 she will most likely be able to greet Grace with a cup of java as she walks down the stairs. She grabs some paper and a pen from the coffee table drawer and scribbles a note, just in case Grace wakes before she is home. The pen pauses, then signs off in a flurry. 

\------- -----  
Grace brings the covers up over her head before daring to crack her eyes open. God, she feels like shit. Her head is pounding, whether from the tears or the vodka or a combination of the two she doesn’t know. The taste of vomit still lingers in her throat and she lets out an almost silent groan. She wants to lie here in the silence for a while longer but her bladder has other ideas and she can do without lying in her own urine on top of everything else. She may be down, but she is certainly not at that point yet. Small victories. Her hips creak as she slides out of the bed, sways slightly while gaining her bearings before moving into the bathroom. A shower. A shower is must right now. She lingers under the hot water, knowing what is waiting for her downstairs. The talk. She is going to have to fucking talk. Anxiety spins in the pit of her stomach, curling up to wrap around her lungs.

_You can do this,_ she tells herself silently. _Tell her you understand, that it’s fine, that you can go back to how things were before. Don’t make a big deal out of it and for God’s sake do not cry again!_ She takes a few deep breaths, the new day bringing her some resolve that she was sure she had all but ran out of. She dries her hair, puts on her make-up and dresses. She is ready for this. 

She walks down the stairs, trying not to be tentative and awkward, silently begging her hands not to tremble. She smells coffee and that alone is enough to straighten her spine and slide the mask back into place. She rounds the corner, grateful that Frankie isn’t here yet, and makes her way to the coffee machine. Lying next to it is a note in Frankie’s unmistakable script. She picks up the piece of paper, relief and fear in equal amounts flooding through her as she reads it.

_‘Had to go pick up some things from Jacob’s before he leaves._  
_I know we need to talk and I’ll be home soon._  
_I love you, Grace._  
_F xx_

 

She stares at the page, feeling a numbness settle over her. _I love you, Grace._ She reads and re-reads the line, trying to connect, to force it to make sense. She has been waiting to hear these words for days, for months, and she wracks her brain to try and figure out why she feels nothing. And then it dawns on her. 

She doesn’t believe it. She doesn’t believe Frankie, not now. Sure, she might love her in that way that Frankie loves fucking everyone. But she doesn’t _love_ her. Of that, Grace is certain. She glances at the clock on the wall and back down to the note, replaces it to its position next to the coffee pot. She turns, coffee forgotten, and picks up her keys before remembering her car is still at the bar. “Shit,” she breathes, wishing that she could just leave this house and Frankie, but that would be the third time in two days and she knows this conversation has to fucking happen. So instead, she pours coffee into a mug and her feet take her outside to await the inevitable.


	5. Chapter 5

“Frankie. It’s good to see you,” Jacob smiles at her as he holds the door open. She ducks under his arm, feeling almost like she was betraying Grace just by being here. 

“You said you have some of my things,” she replies, turning in the doorway to face him. 

“Frankie. . .” Her name is a sigh on his lips as he ducks his head. “What is this all about?” He waits a few seconds as she looks everywhere but at his face. Finally, she raises her eyes to his. 

“What is what all about?” She has never been good a deflecting, her honest nature always getting the best of her and betraying the inner workings of her mind. Jacob lets out another sigh and brings a hand to his head as though her presence here has caused it to ache. She knows the feeling and feels her stomach clench. 

“You send me a text of all things to tell me that you’re not coming to Santa Fe. A text, Frankie. I thought we were more to each other than that.”

“We are!” she bursts. A pause. “We were,” she corrects. “…Jacob…I can’t explain everything to you right now. But…I can’t leave…it’s just too hard.” She turns to face the room instead of the man whose heart she thinks she may be breaking. However, all she can think of is Grace. Her perfect face and angel-like hair and her voice…She turns back to look at Jacob. “There’s too much here for me. I can’t leave my whole life behind. Not now.”

He looks at her for a second or two, his eyes crinkling and then smoothing out as realisation dawns. “This is about Grace, isn’t it?”

“Jacob…” She takes a deep breath, somehow finding some resolve. “I love her.”

His head dips again, this time on a humourless laugh. He brings his eyes back to hers and what she sees there she doesn’t recognise. He is angry. “You don’t love her, Frankie. You feel sorry for her.” 

She eyes him cautiously, quickly losing any empathy that accompanied her on her car ride to his place. “No,” she asserts. “I love Grace, Jacob. I’m sorry but I always have and I have to be with her right now.”

“Why?” Jacob explodes. “Because she has guilt tripped you into thinking you have to stay? Because she’s told you she can’t be without you?” He takes a step forward, causing Frankie to retreat a step back. “Come on, Frankie! She’s messing with you! The only reason Grace wants to you to stay is because she can’t stand the thought of being bitter and alone without you. You’re the only one who puts up with her shit and she knows it!”

Frankie can feel her resolve slipping, the harsh words against Grace hitting her where it hurts. She shifts her weight from foot to foot in unconscious readiness for battle. Before she can get any words out of her glued mouth, Jacob continues. “She treats you like shit, Frankie. And you’re all too prepared to put up with that. She doesn’t love you. She’s just terrified of ending up alone. Do you really want to waste the rest of your life on her?”

She expected him to be hurt. She expected a reaction. She even expected some angry words. But this! This attack on Grace she can not deal with. Channelling the woman she loves, she pulls her shoulders back to her full height. “Yes, Jacob. I am prepared to do exactly that. You don’t know her and you don’t know what she has been through! I love her. I’m sorry if that’s hard for you to understand but it is my truth. And your understanding is not my priority right now!”

They eye each other across the threshold for a beat, before Jacob appears to physically concede defeat. He nods, looking down at her feet before looking up at her with tight drawn lips. “You do what you have to do Frankie. But you will regret it.”

Frankie’s eyes dip from his, not prepared to have this fight with him. “Just give me my things please”, she says. 

\--------

Grace is reclining on the sun-lounger, her head tilted back and eyes closed. The sound of the waves is calming her nerves somewhat, the salty sea air quelling the nausea in her stomach. She takes a deep breath through her nose, her hand coming to press on her sternum in an attempt to deepen the calmness, not unaware that the action is not her own. Her eyes squint open as the chirp of her phone rouses her from her relaxed state. Stifling a groan, she pulls her phone out from where it rests under her right thigh. Her head is too full of thoughts and so when she squints at the screen she doesn’t think twice before answering, despite the caller’s name being clearly displayed. 

“Hello?”

“’Are you happy?” Jacob’s voice booms into her ear and all she can do is slip her eyes shut and take a breath.

“Jacob” she says, as though expecting this call all along, and perhaps she was. 

“You have ruined Frankie’s last chance of happiness. I hope you know that.” Her eyes remain closed, her breath steady as she listens with a crinkled brow. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? She thinks she owes you. She thinks you need her to stay for you. Do you even know how fucking selfish you are?”

_Yes, yes I know. But I don’t know what else to do._ “Jacob…” she tries again, but her word is lost as he continues. “You want to know why she is staying? Because she feels sorry for you. She doesn’t love you! How could anybody love you? She is far too good for you and you know it. All you’re going to do is hurt her over and over again and she’ll let you because she’s too much of good person to tell you to go to hell. You’re toxic, Grace. I hope you’re happy.”

The dull tone of the line going dead makes Grace’s head frizzle and buzz. She lets her eyes stay closed for a moment, replaying Jacob’s words over in her mind, abstract and foreign. He hasn’t said anything she doesn’t already know. She drops her hand, it suddenly feeling so fucking heavy, her thumb hitting the off button on her phone. Another deep breath and her eyes slide open to look unseeing at the ocean before her. 

\--------

Frankie pulls into the driveway, her nerves still on edge. She takes a deep breath, willing herself to let go of her anger towards Jacob and focus on Grace. She has to be strong right now. It is not lost on her that it’s up to her to be the strong one of the two of them and she feels completely out of practice, unsure if she is really able to do this. _Of course I can do it,_ she thinks. _I have to – otherwise I’ll lose her for good._ Losing Grace is something that she simply can’t do. Not now that she knows how it feels to kiss her and hold her and love her. She has to stop being the one to run. She has to be strong. 

She enters the house, hoping to see Grace in the living room, however it’s as empty as she left it. She takes a breath. “Grace?” she calls, dipping her head to glance into the meditation room on her way to the kitchen. She eyes the coffee pot, her note still sitting next to it, and sees that at a least a cup has been poured and somehow this makes her feel better. At least Grace is up. She goes out to the patio, knowing how much Grace appreciates the quiet and calmness of the ocean breeze in a morning, but comes up empty. Frankie’s eyes crease and her lips press together with worry, her arms coming out slightly from her sides in confusion. Turning, she makes her way up the stairs. “Grace?” she calls again. Maybe she went back to her room to hibernate some more. She enters Grace’s bedroom, finding it empty, and lets out a deep sigh. _Where the hell is she?_ The curtains are still closed and she goes over to pull them open and let the daylight in, trying to keep her mind from replaying the memories of the last time she was in this room as she passes by Grace’s bed. Letting open the patio doors she looks out across the beach and feels her heart stutter. She breathes out, relieved. She gazes at Grace’s small form sitting on the beach looking out to the ocean, her arms wrapped around her bent knees. Frankie lets herself smile and turns, her feet taking her down the stairs and out of the house, her eagerness to make sure Grace is ok quickening her steps. 

Her footsteps slow as she approaches, not wanting to startle Grace who is deep in thought. As she nears her, the slight tilt of Grace’s head and the straightening of her back tells her that she is aware of her careful approach. She sits next her best friend _(her soul)_ , shuffling her hips slightly to make herself comfortable in the sand, her eyes looking out at the ocean too. They are quiet for several moments, both acclimatising to the other’s company. 

“Did you get your things?” Grace’s voice carries to her on the breeze. Frankie’s lips twitch in a half smile. _So she did read my note._

“I did.” Another long pause. 

“Grace…”

“Frankie…”

Their synchronised names startle them both into looking at one another. _She looks so tired,_ Frankie thinks. _So beautiful but so tired._ Grace turns away, her eyes falling again on the expanse of blue before them.

“Why don’t you let me start, ok?” Frankie gently insists. Grace’s shoulders rise and fall on a silent breath, her arms somehow gripping her knees even harder, readying herself. “I was so scared, Grace,” Frankie sighs. “I was so scared of what I feel for you. Of how much … how _fucking_ much I love you, need you. I didn’t know how to handle it. The other night . . . I wanted nothing more than to kiss you and hold you and make you see exactly how much I want you.” She turns slightly, angling herself more towards Grace. Grace’s eyes have dipped to the sand before them, her brow creased while she listens. “But I got scared,” Frankie continues after a deep breath. “I was scared of needing you like that, of what would happen if it all went wrong. God, Grace, what happened with Sol almost killed me and what I feel for you is so, so much more. What the hell would happen to me if this didn’t work out? We fight and we hurt each other without being . . . life partners. How much more would it hurt if we took things to the next level?” She pauses, wanting Grace to absorb her words. She watches her as she nods sharply, her brow momentarily creasing even more as what looks like a flash of pain crosses over her face. 

“I know,” Grace says thickly, nodding again. “I understand. I do.” Frankie watches a single tear fall down her cheek before she quickly bats it away and clears her throat. “We’re too different. _I’m_ too different. It just wouldn’t work, not without me fucking everything up and hurting you again.” She pauses and Frankie frowns, trying to catch up to Grace’s thinking. “I get it,” she continues, her voice tight and higher than usual. “We can just….go back to how things were…before. Unless you can’t. I mean, I’d understand if you want to leave, or want me to leave. We can make the necessary arrangements with the house and…”

“Grace, no!” Frankie interjects Grace’s rambling with gusto. She realises that Grace is, yet again, on a completely different page to her. Good God, will they _ever_ be on the same page? “You don’t understand what I’m saying! I’m not saying I don’t want this. I am in no way saying that.” 

Grace looks her then, a look of such confusion in her eyes that Frankie just wants to wrap her up in her arms and keep her there forever. “Then what are you saying?” she asks tiredly, her legs stretching out in front of her. _Can she really not know? Can she really not know how much I love her?_

“Oh Grace.” Frankie turns herself more so that she is facing Grace side on. One of her legs drops to the sand while the one furthest from Grace bends at the knee and crosses over Grace’s thigh, trapping her there. She leans in, one hand bracing her weight behind her while the other comes up to capture Grace’s cheek. “I’m saying that I love you. That I want you. That I need you. No matter what might happen between us. No matter what life throws at us. I need us to be together through it all. Always.” 

Her thumb strokes Grace’s cheekbone, while Grace’s wet eyes search hers almost desperately. “But I’m. . .I’m not good enough for you.” It come out on a sob, accompanied by twin tears falling down her cheeks. Her breath hitches and she holds it as though desperately trying to keep her heart from breaking by sheer force of will. 

“Oh honey. . .” Frankie winds her hand to the back of Grace’s neck, pulling her in until her face is pressed against the side of her throat. Another small sob comes from the woman in her arms and Frankie sits up straighter with tears in her own eyes, bringing her other hand to smooth down Grace’s back and hug her tightly. She wants nothing more than to suck the pain right out of her, to heal her with her embrace. 

“Sweetheart. . .You are _more_ than enough. I love you so much.”

Grace’s head shakes gently and slowly, trying to deny Frankie’s truth. “Hey,” Frankie says, pulling back to peer into Grace’s tearstained face, hands either side of her cheeks. She stares into those blue orbs, desperate for Grace to believe her. “You are enough. You are my _everything_. I need you and I want you and . . . God Grace, there is no turning back for me. You hear me? You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.” 

Frankie’s heart leaps as Grace lets out a short laugh, dipping her head and taking a couple of deep breaths, her own hands coming up to hold onto Frankie’s wrists. She looks back up at her, a look of love and hope in her eyes as she smiles. “I like it,” she says. “Sometimes too much.”

Frankie shakes her head with a loving smile. “Oh baby, there’s no such thing as too much. Not when it comes to us.”

Grace returns her smile before asking quietly, “Are you sure you want this? Am I not too…”

“Perfect,” Frankie interrupts. “You are perfect and I love you and I am super fucking sure that I want this. Please, Grace, please trust me.”

Grace peers into her face, so much love in her eyes that Frankie thinks she might fall through the very earth on which she sits. “Promise me,” she whispers. Frankie opens her mouth to say the words before she catches on to what Grace is asking. _Oh._ Shifting to straighten her back a little more she moves her thumbs gently back and forth where they still rest against Grace’s cheekbones. “I promise”, she whispers with such reverence and she muses that she has never, ever, meant anything so much in her life as those two words. Grace’s watery smile sends a tear sliding down her own cheek and her heart almost stops at Grace’s whispered “now finish it”. She leans in and presses her lips to Grace’s and she swears a kiss has never meant so much or ever felt so right. This promise, this is all that matters.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very short chapter to tide you over...

Walking back to the beach house, Frankie’s arm looped through hers, Grace can’t ignore the creeping feeling of doubt wind its way deep into her chest. Jacob’s words echoed in her mind, _‘you’re not good enough for her, all you’ll do is hurt her over and over again’._ She wishes she could switch off her brain and just enjoy this moment, wishes she could just be a fucking normal person for once. A person not plagued by self-doubt and self-questioning, a person not so consumed by her own fucking issues. Frankie has just told her that she loves her, that she needs her and wants her. Yet all Grace can do is profile and over-analyse, find holes in her words and turn them into something . . . wrong. God, she wants to switch off, tune out all the doubts and just _be_ in this moment. But she can’t. she has never been able to do it. She wasn’t able to enjoy her wedding day, certain that Robert would soon realise what a huge mistake he was making in promising his life to her (and, not so incidentally, he ended up doing just that... _I thought there was more_ ). She couldn’t enjoy her girls when they were born, sure that they, too, would somehow sense her complete inability to love unconditionally, to be what they needed. God, how she loved those babies, _her_ babies. How much she wanted nothing more than to hold them and stare at them each and every day, but how unable she was to do it, how unable she was to deal with their incessant crying, how completely incapable she was to instinctively know their every need. And when Brianna began to reach for the nanny ( _you need some extra help, Grace_ , Robert had observed), instead of her, Grace felt her heart ice over.

__When she gave birth to Brianna, Frankie already had a six-month-old Cayote, and Grace would watch with something dangerously close to jealousy how free and easy motherly love came to her. It exuded from her every pore. Grace felt herself become bitter and angry about that; Frankie hadn’t carried her baby for nine months, she hadn’t felt and nurtured and taken care of her child in the intimate safety of her own body. And yet, there she was, a more capable and more able and more loving mother than Grace could ever hope to be. Perhaps that’s when the rivalry started. Rivalry from Grace anyhow, Frankie was far too good to rise to the bait, instead treating Grace with a kindness and patience that Grace was unaccustomed to, one that put her on edge and made her feel unaccountably vulnerable. Grace Hanson did not do vulnerability! It far easier to pretend that she didn’t care.__

____

But now, now she cared. God, she cared, _so fucking much!_. She wanted to be everything that Frankie wanted her to be, everything that she demonstrated she thought Grace already was. But Grace knew the truth, that she was damaged and spiteful and rotten to the core. That thought hit her brain hard, causing her to stumble slightly in the sand as they approached the gate. 

____

“Woah there, lady,” Frankie offers, her hand coming to Grace’s back to steady her. 

____

“Sorry,” she mumbles, the long-forgotten memory infiltrating her brain. It was her Grandmother who’d said it, the Grandmother who had loved her sister and her brother but somehow found Grace’s presence to be nothing short of intolerable. _Why can’t you be more like your sister? You’re rotten to the core, Gracie!_

____

Entering the house, Grace lets her mind try to decipher her Grandmother’s words, tries to remember what she had done that was so terrible that a Grandmother would say such a thing to her youngest Granddaughter. Suddenly, her own words echo in her mind, _“kids don’t know what they like, they’re dumb!”_ My God! She actually said that. Has she turned into her own Grandmother, the woman whom she swore she would never, ever become? Her mind flashes on all the times her Grandkids had been in this house, all the times that she had been removed and aloof, doing nothing more than tell them not to spill, not to touch, not to shout! Meanwhile, Frankie had played and laughed and loved…had smiled and showed them the affection that always came so fucking hard to Grace. 

____

She stops at the kitchen island, her breath coming in short supply, her hands resting on its surface as her head lowers. She needs to centre herself. _Don’t faint, oh God, don’t fucking faint!_

____

“Grace? Are you alright?” 

____

She tries to speak, tries to raise her head and slide the mask back into place. Tries to reassure Frankie who is making her way over to her to offer some sort of kindness that she just doesn’t deserve. _Don’t touch me,_ she thinks frantically, _please don’t fucking touch me._ Frankie’s hand lands on her shoulder, a gentle caress that makes Grace’s stomach lurch unpleasantly. 

____

“Please, don’t . . .” is all she can manage before the darkness engulfs her. 

____


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grace and Frankie finally start working towards a happy ending.

“Grace!” Frankie’s arms instinctively reach out to catch her as Grace’s eyes glaze over and her knees give way. She lowers her slight weight to the floor, a hand under her neck. Grace’s eyes flutter open, a small moan coming from her closed lips. 

“It’s ok…” she mumbles, a heavy hand coming up to push Frankie’s away from where it hovers over her face. She takes a breath and tries to sit up. 

“Stay where you are!” Frankie pleads, even as the thought crosses Grace’s mind that she is absolutely not going to continue laying on the kitchen floor for a moment longer. 

“Frankie…please…”

“What? Tell me what to do, Grace.”

_Leave me alone. Just leave me alone!_ “Just … get me some water”.

Frankie stands, rushing to fill a glass of cold water. She turns to see Grace struggle to a standing position, looking paler than she’s ever seen her. 

“Hey, take it easy,” she says gently, cupping Grace’s elbow with her hand. Grace leans heavily against the island with one hand, the other accepting the proffered glass. 

“I’m fine, Frankie,” she pushes out with irritation, shrugging Frankie’s hand off her elbow. Does she really have to do this now? Does she really have to crumble in front of Frankie again?

Frankie stands back, eyeing Grace as she tentatively sips the water. She can’t help but feel irked at Grace’s attempts to push her away and keep her out even after the talk they’ve just had. “You’re not fine, Grace,” she asserts with conviction. “People who are fine don’t faint.”

Grace’s eyes close briefly, her head pounding.

“When was the last time you ate?” Frankie asks. Grace can’t answer this because she doesn’t remember the last time she ate anything. She and food don’t have a great relationship at the best of times and when she is upset eating becomes an impossible task. If she can’t control the emotions she can at least control her calorie intake. At her silence, Frankie ushers her into the living room, her hands on her shoulders forcing her to sit on the couch. “I’m going to make you something to eat.”

“Frankie, please I’m fine”, she insists. “I don’t need to eat.”

Frankie spins to face her again as she is half way back to the kitchen. Grace doesn’t think she has ever seen such a look of anger on her face before. “That’s where you’re wrong, Grace. As much as you like to think you don’t need to partake in normal human behaviours, you need to eat – and keep it down – just as much as the rest of us do. You’re not invincible!”

Grace can only stare back at her from where she sits, feeling small. Frankie huffs out a sigh and heads to the kitchen. She waits for the bread to toast, her arms locked straight as she braces herself against the counter. She breathes through her anger. She knows about Grace’s food issue but has never thrown it in her face like that. She sighs, a new frustration coming to the forefront. Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes in and here they are, hurting one another all over again. Grace worries her. She has always worried her but these past few days have had Frankie frantic with fear. If there’s one emotion that Frankie is not comfortable with, it is fear. Something about it makes her fight back like a scared puppy, nipping and scratching until it’s purged and abated. And she knows Grace doesn’t need that right now. She spreads a generous amount of butter and jam onto the toast and carries the plate to where Grace still quietly sits, looking down at her hands where they rest in her lap. 

“Here,” she says softly, passing Grace the plate. She wants to sit next to her but somehow knows that the only thing worse than making Grace eat against her will would be to make her do it in front of her. “I’ll make some tea.”

Grace watches her retreat back into the kitchen, grateful of her leave. She forces herself to nibble at the toast, the taste of the sweet jam awakening a hunger that she hasn’t felt in days, her body’s way of telling her that this is needed. By the time she is finished she can hear the whistle of the kettle and she carries the empty plate to the sink, next to which Frankie stands with her arms wrapped around herself in a lose hug. “Thank you,” she says quietly, placing the plate in the sink. 

“I’m sorry,” Frankie says, turning to face her. “About what I said. I’m just so worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” Grace deflects with a forced laugh. “I’m fine!”

Frankie tilts her head, eyeing her with such seriousness and Grace feels naked and open, causing her to cross her arms to create a physical barrier. “Grace,” she starts gently. “I’m not Robert.” 

Grace is startled and creases her brow. “What?”

“I’m not Robert,” Frankie repeats. “Or the Country Club Bitches. Or the many other people who have just ignored your feelings and let you deal with them on your own. I care about what you feel. I want to know what you’re feeling. So I can be there for you. I don’t want you to ever have to hide them from me, no matter how scary and fucked up you think they are. Because I fucking love the bones of you, Grace Hanson.”

Grace’s breath is taken away and she stills, stares at Frankie for a long moment. In 73 years, she has never heard a single soul say anything like that to her. She has never before known with certainty that another person actually cared enough to want to be let in to her inner self, especially not the parts of herself that are so dark and broken. And she believes it. She believes Frankie. Because Frankie is the most giving, most loving, most loyal person on this fucking planet and Grace is suddenly overcome with a surge of love and sends a silent thank you to whoever or whatever brought this amazing creature into her life. 

Stepping forward she wraps her arms around Frankie’s neck and holds her tight. “Thank you,” she breaths into her hair. She can feel Franke’s slight hesitation, knows that she is taken aback. But then her arms loop tightly around her waist and one hand is on her lower back while the other smooths up to press in between her shoulder blades, holding her close. 

“You have to talk to me, Grace,” she whispers. “If this is going to work, you have to talk to me.” She feels Grace’s head nod against her cheek.

“I will.” She pulls back and looks into Frankie’s eyes. “I want this to work. I do. And I’ll do anything to make sure it does. I promise.” Frankie smiles at her, tilting her head and cupping Grace’s cheek in the palm of her hand.

“A lot of promises today,” she says with a smile. 

Grace returns her smile, her eyes flicking down to look at her lips before lifting back up to her eyes again. “Do you want me to finish it?” she asks softly. 

“Absolutely.”

Grace leans in to press her lips against Frankie’s and she thinks she wants to make promises to her every day for the rest of her life. Pulling back she lets the thumb of her right hand run lightly over those lips, her smile broadening and her stomach clenching as Frankie leaves a kiss on the digit. Frankie’s hands lift and smooth Grace’s hair, finger-combing it behind her ears. “Come on, you need to rest.” She takes her hand and leads her back to the couch. And for the first time in her life, Grace lets herself be led.


	8. Chapter 8

Grace lies on the couch, her head resting in Frankie’s lap as Frankie draws her fingers slowly through her hair. Her eyes still closed, she smiles softly. “You’re petting me like I’m a cat,” she says softly.

“There’s a pussy joke in there somewhere…” Frankie murmurs, causing Grace to turn her head and look up at her with a half-exasperated smile. “I’ve always thought of you as a little kitty, I’ve told you this before.”

Grace turns back to her initial position, letting out a small contented sigh as she rubs her cheek slightly against Frankie’s tie-dye-clad thigh. Bringing her hand up to rest just above Frankie’s knee she squeezes it affectionately before taking breath. 

“I’m thinking of going to therapy,” she lets out, trying not to let the anxiety take up all the room in her belly. She has gotten better at talking about her feelings to Frankie over the last few weeks but still finds it hard. A habit of a lifetime is hard to break and some small part of her still half expects Frankie to shut down and not want to listen to what she has to say. Frankie is quiet for a long moment, her hand stilling in her hair before resuming its comforting strokes. 

“If you think that will help then I think it’s a great idea.” She pauses. “You know you can always talk to me about anything, don’t you?”

“I know,” Grace reassures, finding it easier to get the words out because she’s not looking directly at her. “I just think … maybe talking to someone … impartial … might help me to, you know … work through some things.” She frowns slightly to herself, hating that she still finds this so hard. 

Frankie’s fingertips find their way to Grace’s brow, soothing the small lines she sees there. “I say do it. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

Grace feels herself flush, still unable to take a compliment without feeling as though she is being patronised, but she knows Frankie is being anything but patronising. She turns her face further into Frankie’s thigh in an unconscious attempt to hide the redness of her cheeks, breathes in this woman who has somehow creeped into her soul and stolen her heart. “I love you, Frankie,” she whispers, more to herself than to the woman smiling down at her. 

“Love ya too, Blondie.” She lets herself chuckle at that, Frankie’s most recent nickname for her delighting her unaccountably. 

“You know, if anyone else dared calling me ‘Blondie’ I’d rip their balls off.”

“Good job I don’t have any balls then, huh?”

Grace sits up, bracing herself with one arm on the back of the couch as she leans across her. “Oh, you have balls, Frankie” she says, leaning in to press her lips against Frankie’s. The room is quiet, the patio doors open letting in the gentle sea breeze, and Grace deepens the kiss, her hand coming up to wind through Frankie’s hair and pull her closer. They have kissed a lot over the past few weeks and Grace can’t remember what life was like before she knew the taste of Frankie’s mouth against hers. Frankie knows how to kiss. She kisses with the conviction and passion that she does everything with, full steam ahead and unapologetic. And Grace can’t get enough. She brings her hand down over Frankie’s neck, down to her shoulder, over to her collarbone. She moans as Frankie’s tongue chases her own back into her mouth and lowers her hand again to cup Frankie’s breast through her dress. They have done this too, over-the-clothes touching and caressing. Two weeks ago, during one of their more heated make-out sessions, things very nearly went further before Grace stamped on the breaks, pushing Frankie away with an apology and a “I can’t” before escaping to her bedroom to cry. Frankie, trying not feel hurt, gave her some space before gently encouraging Grace to tell her what was happening. 

“I can’t do it,” She had cried. “I want to but . . . Oh God, what’s wrong with me?”

“Shh…breathe”, Frankie had soothed, her hand gently rubbing Grace’s back. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Grace had gotten mad then, turning to her with narrowed wet eyes. “What I’m thinking is the last time we did this the next day you told me you didn’t want me! Is that what’s going to happen tomorrow, Frankie? You’re going to build me up just to let me fucking fall?”

Frankie had, in the only that Frankie can, held her and let her cry out all the rage that was still inside, let her curse and shout and vent until it was dark outside and they were both exhausted and Grace was yet again overcome with self-hatred for losing her temper. For feeling. Grace felt useless in that moment, not understanding her apparent need to sabotage this wonderful thing that had become her everything, for hurting the only person who saw her, knew her, and still wanted her. After a couple of days, they once again found their footing, Grace swearing that she was going to try harder and Frankie insisting that whatever she could give, and whenever she could give it, was enough. It was a delicate dance, one that they were getting better at with each passing day. 

Squeezing Frankie’s breast gently, Grace gives herself over to the heat. Her mouth trails open mouthed kisses from Frankie’s mouth, along her jaw to her throat, her teeth nipping just under her ear as she breathes her in deeply. Frankie’s hands are still in Grace’s hair as she lets out a moan, tilting her head to give Grace better access to that spot on her neck that sets her alight. Grace’s own neck begins to ache and it feels like the most natural thing in the world to slide a leg over Frankie’s so that she is sat atop her thighs, straddling her as she pushes her back into the couch cushions. Both hands come to cup Frankie’s head while Grace’s mouth leaves kisses everywhere from her forehead to her shoulders. Right in this moment, all Grace can think about is making this woman feel better than she has ever felt in her life. To repay her with kisses and soft touches and caresses. To make her absolutely certain just how much she is so thoroughly cherished and loved. Lifting to her knees, Grace drops a hand behind her, grasps the skirts of Frankie’s dress and pulls them up towards her, trying slightly frantically to bunch the material around Frankie’s waist. 

Frankie pulls back from her, her hands coming to Grace’s hips as she tries to catch her breath. “Grace, maybe we should slow down, huh?” 

Grace stops and looks at her, drops her hips to sit on Frankie’s thighs once more. Without breaking her gaze, her hands lift to her own shirt buttons, watches Frankie as she undoes them one by one. Frankie is torn between wanting to slow this down and wanting to see Grace uncovered, of wanting to look into her lust-ridden face and wanting to watch her reveal herself. Her hands still on Grace’s hips, she squeezes them and lifts her knees slightly to get her attention. “Grace. Are you sure?”

Undoing the last button, Grace tilts her head to one side, picks up Frankie’s hands from her hips and places them on her shoulders. “Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, I’m sure. I want this. I want you.” Her hands still over Frankie’s she moves them to encourage her to remove her shirt, letting it fall from her and drop to the floor. Frankie’s hands again find her hips, moving up to smooth over the sides of her waist and her lower back. She leans forward, planting a soft kiss right between Grace’s breasts and Grace puts one hand in Frankie’s hair while the other rests atop Frankie’s on her side. She arches into her kiss, her hand pressing on the back of her head to keep her close. God, she wants her mouth on her breasts. As though hearing her thoughts, Frankie’s mouth moves over the rise of her left breast, just above the black lace of her bra. Her tongue darts out to taste her there and Grace’s hips lurch towards Frankie involuntarily. She feels Frankie’s fingers dance up her spine until they rest against the bra clasp, and she leans back to peer up into Grace’s face as she silently asks one more time. Grace’s small yet certain nod encourages her to unclasp the bra and pull it gently off her shoulders, letting it fall to join her shirt on the floor behind her. 

“You’re so beautiful,” she sighs, her left hand coming around front to hold Grace’s right breast as her mouth captures her nipple and sucks it in deeply, taking in as much as she can. The pull on her breast leads Grace to cry out, her head thrown back as she digs her nails into Frankie’s shoulders. She leans her head over Frankie’s, a hunched position to try and quell the butterfly dance deep in her belly. 

“Frankie,” she calls, pulling back. Frankie immediately releases her breast and sits back breathless, her face telling Grace that she is scared she has overstepped the mark. It momentarily flashes across Grace’s mind that she holds so much power over Frankie. She would start or stop with just one word. Whereas such power would usually make Grace smirk with pride, all she wants to do is relinquish all control and let Frankie take over, let her love her and hold her and kiss her and trust that she will catch her when she falls. She smiles into Frankie’s face, takes a hand and kisses the palm. “Take me to bed.”

 

Frankie’s face lights up with relief and lust in equal measures. Grace slides off her lap, holds out her hand. Frankie grasps it and stands, leading Grace to the stairs and up into the bedroom. This time it is Grace who takes the lead, lifting Frankie’s dress up and over her head before turning her and coaxing her down onto the bed, removing her own jeans in the process. Grace crawling over her, both women moan at the sensation of their bare breasts touching and pressing, Grace sliding one slim leg between Frankie’s. Frankie’s hand finds its way into Grace’s hair once more and pulls her down into a thorough kiss, angling them both to create the deepest contact. Grace’s hand lightly strokes up Frankie’s side from thigh to ribs, feeling the muscles spasm and flutter under her touch at the dip of her waist. “You’re so soft,” she whispers. Frankie’s hands skim over Grace’s back, reach down to press fingertips into the twin dimples just above her backside, the motion pressing Grace’s hips into her own. Her fingertips dare to go lower, dipping just beneath the lace of Grace’s underwear, sliding round to brush over her sharp hipbones. Bracing herself on one arm, Grace lifts up slightly in silent invitation. The feel of Frankie’s fingertips brushing at her centre make her quake and pull back sharply. Coming to her knees, she sits up on Frankie’s thighs, smiling in reassurance at Frankie’s frown. “Not yet,” she whispers. Her fingernails trail just more than gently down Frankie’s sides from ribs to hips, hooking her fingers in her underwear and tugging them playfully down her thighs. Some wriggling and manoeuvring ensues before Frankie manages to kick her underwear from where they dangle off her foot, both of them laughing at the giddiness of it all. 

Grace immediately flattens herself against Frankie’s warm body, kissing her deeply before trailing a blaze of kisses down her throat to her chest. She continues her downward descent as Frankie winds her hands in Grace’s hair and arches her back. Taking a breast in each hand, Grace returns the love and attention that Frankie has just given her own breast. Kissing and sucking and licking the taut peaks, she feels drunk on her, her head spinning. Holding her breasts in her hands, her lips and tongue moving between the two, hearing Frankie’s deep moans and groans, Grace feel like the most powerful being on the planet. As much as she would like to spend the rest of her life with her mouth full of Frankie’s breasts, a deeper desire urges her lower to place open mouthed kisses against her stomach. Coming to rest between Frankie’s thighs, Grace breathes in Frankie’s deep earthy scent. She plants kisses to her inner thigh, her hand looping under to keep her soft leg close. She runs the tip of her nose up and down that thigh, mesmerised by the softness she finds there. Edging up she nudges at that space where inner thigh meets groin, her mouth going dry with desire. 

Frankie can’t breathe, doesn’t think there is enough oxygen in the world to fill her lungs right now. Not with Grace’s mouth a mere inch from where she needs it most. Grace’s hands smooth over Frankie’s hips as she edges her mouth closer to her centre, the tip of her nose lightly tracing its seam. “Grace…” Frankie breathes. “Please…”. Her tongue comes out to follow the route her nose has just taken, feeling Frankie go still beneath her and hold her breath. As Frankie’s hands wind their way into Grace’s hair once more, Grace’s own hands come down, her thumbs parting Frankie’s lips as her tongue darts out to taste her. Frankie’s hips rise sharply, then fall back to the bed with a muttered “fuck…”. Once she has the first taste, it is all Grace can do not to promise to spend the rest of her life right here. Pressing close, she gives Frankie the most intimate kiss she has ever given another person, her tongue and lips worshiping this woman who owns her heart and soul. She uses the flat of her tongue to work Frankie into frenzy, her heart pounding in response to the guttural moans coming from the woman beneath her. She suddenly wants to be all over her, inside her, to merge with her seamlessly and endlessly. Frankie feels that they already are, feels the creeping curling sensation in the depths of her belly as Grace’s tongue paints intricate patterns on her most intimate place. 

Grace moves her mouth up slightly, her lips finding Frankie’s clitoris and pursing around it, her tongue working its underside as her she brings her right hand to seek out her opening. She lifts her head, momentarily unsure if this is too much too soon. “Can I …?” she asks breathlessly, a finger lightly touching Frankie’s opening. 

“Oh God, yes!” Frankie moans, her hands tightening in Grace’s hair and her head tilting back. Grace resumes her mission, her lips and tongue working furiously as she slides a finger deep inside. “Ooh fuck, Grace!” Frankie breathes, her hips rising and falling in time with Grace’s tongue. Grace withdraws her finger and pushes back in with another, feeling dizzy on the scent and taste of Frankie. Wondering how she knows to do it other than sheer instinct, she curls her fingers up as she moves them back and forth, in and out. She is briefly concerned that she won’t be able to keep this up for long without her wrist screaming out in pain, but that thought is forgotten as soon as Frankie tenses beneath her, a deep flush spreading across her chest. 

Frankie feels fuller than she has ever felt in her entire life, the sensations so intense and so perfect and so right. She feels it approaching, the precipice, and she almost wants Grace to stop, to end this blissful torture. But even more so, she is desperate for release, can see it, taste it, welcomes it with every ounce of her being. The clench in her belly is followed by an explosion between her thighs, her legs winding around Grace to hold her close and never let her go and her hips rise into Grace’s mouth over and over again. And she’s there, panting and gasping and she is sure that this is the most intense orgasm of her whole entire fucking life, the knowledge that it is Grace Hanson giving her this gift making it all the most powerful. “Grace!” She calls out, hoarse with desire. 

Grace feels her tremble as she comes down, her legs sliding back away from around her shoulders as she lies listless and breathless. Frankie’s hands loosen from their place in Grace’s hair, fall down to clumsily caress her cheeks before Grace shifts to plant small kisses to her inner thigh once more. They lie in the quiet, Frankie making small mewling sounds as Grace rests her cheek on her thigh and watches her chest rise and fall, reaching out to grasp Frankie’s hand in hers. 

“My God, Grace,” Frankie finally breathes. “You’ve seriously never done that before?”

Grace leans up, propping an elbow next to Frankie’s hip, her head resting on her hand. She grins, feeling thoroughly proud of herself and shakes her head. “You must inspire me, Frankie B.”

Frankie laughs, the moniker sounding completely incongruous with the person using it. She pulls Grace up to her and turns them both so that Grace now lies beneath her. Kissing her lips, she is taken with the taste of herself on Grace’s lips, can’t help but deepen the kiss and suckle on the tongue that just made her climax. Pulling back, she nudges Grace’s nose with her own. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” Grace responds, sliding her hands up her back to balance her fingers against Frankie’s shoulders. “Just you.”

Frankie smiles, her eyes closed and her lips landing on Grace’s cheek. “Give a girl a clue, Grace.”

Pushing her hands into Frankie’s hair, Grace holds Frankie’s gaze. “I want you inside me.”

Frankie face beams at her as she swoops down to capture Grace’s mouth once more. Shifting slightly off to one side, her hand drifts down Grace’s torso, pausing to cup her breast and run a thumb over the hardened nipple. “Frankie…” Grace gasps against her lips. “Play later. I need you.”

Frankie’s heart flipflops at that and she lets her hand drift down over Grace’s stomach, feeling the taut muscles there that tense under her touch. Together they remove Grace's lace underwear, sending them flying in the same direction as Frankie's went earlier. The first touch of Frankie’s fingers against her core makes Grace’s heart stutter and stall before beating faster. She knows she is ready, has felt the dampness on her thighs since she first placed her mouth on Frankie. Thinks that perhaps she has never been so ready in all her life. Frankie’s fingers trace her lips delicately, her mouth placing kisses against her own. She dips lower and Grace feels herself opening, swollen and needy. She winds an arm around Frankie’s neck, her other hand lowering to cover Frankie’s hand between her thighs. Pressing on Frankie’s fingers, she shows her exactly where to touch, where she needs it the most, Frankie’s tongue in her mouth muffling her moan. She pushes the fingers lower, silently showing Frankie what she needs. Grace’s fingers are on Frankie’s until they slip inside her body, then rest on her wrist as she fills her. Panting out her desire, Grace’s lips hover under Frankie’s, just barely grazing as Frankie withdraws and pushes back in. Moments pass and Grace thinks this must be what heaven feels like. This overwhelming pleasure that is filling her whole being. Her eyes close tightly, focusing on the sensations, the hand around Frankie’s neck grasping with need. Her hips rise and fall, speeding up as the pleasure threatens to overtake her. 

“Frankie,” she gasps. “Faster…”. She holds onto Frankie’s wrist, pulling her in faster and harder, showing her the pace she needs. Within seconds her hand leaves Frankie to wind both arms around her and hold on tight, release coiling in the depths of her stomach. “Ah, Frankie…Oh God, oh Frankie…OH!” Her whole body lifts from the bed, her orgasm so powerful and strong that she thinks she may just black out. Frankie is there with her, watching her as she comes undone, a small tremor running through her own body as she watches. She has heard of non-contact orgasms and briefly considers that she may have just experienced one. But then she is distracted from any thoughts as she peers into Grace’s face, so beautiful and flushed and content as she sinks back into the bed. Carefully removing her fingers, causing Grace to let out a small moan, Frankie curls up beside her, lands a kiss on her forehead and cups her cheek, her thumb running back and forth over her cheekbone.

Grace takes a deep breath and turns her head, opening her eyes to gaze at Frankie next to her. “Wow,” she says and Frankie thinks that might be the biggest understatement of the century but she lets it slide because it’s Grace. Turning into Frankie, Grace scoots closer, her nose burying itself in her neck, her arm looping around her waist. “I love you,” she whispers. 

Frankie’s arms hold her close and Grace can feel the light kiss she plants on the top of her head. “I love you too, Grace.”

Falling asleep in Frankie’s arms, Grace has never felt so loved. 

\-----------------

_Sunlight streams through the window and lands on Grace’s face, rousing her from a deep sleep. She breathes in deeply through her nose and stretches her legs out, the strain of her overused muscles dispelling any last traces of slumber. Cracking her eyes open, she blinks into the morning light and it only takes a second for the memories of last night to come flooding back to her. She smiles, dipping her head so that her nose burrows into the bedcovers, and takes another deep breath. ‘This is what contentment feels like,’ she thinks sleepily. She lets out a sigh and lets her hand reach back behind her, seeking out the warmth and comfort of her housemate._

Her hand is intercepted and grasped tightly in a warm embrace. She smiles to herself as she feels Frankie edge closer to her, letting go of her hand so she can wrap an arm around her waist and pull her back flush against her front, enveloping her completely. Frankie plants a kiss on her neck, the hand around her waist finding Grace’s hand once more and holding on tight as she whispers “good morning, gorgeous”. Grace smiles and squeezes the arm around her middle, her backside wriggling slightly in the curve of Frankie’s thighs, tucking herself in impossibly closer. “Good morning, sweetheart,” she breathes.

Grace typically gets out of bed the moment she is awake, not wanting to waste the day (unless hungover and avoiding it). All her years raising the girls, building up her business, have left in her the drive to get up and go the moment her eyes open.

But this morning, right here and now, she can’t think of anything she wants more than to stay in this bed, with this woman, in this embrace. 

And so she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finished! I really didn't expect this to be 8 chapters long - or to be so angsty; but hey, I enjoyed the heck out of writing this. 
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos and comments - your feedback means the world to me!


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